I have a new book out. It's called Writing the Uncanny. It's a collection of essays co-edited by myself and the great Dan Coxon.

It's about the Uncanny. Anyone who happens to be familiar with these blogposts (anyone??) will be aware that my obsession lies in this area: not quite horror and not quite not-horror, but some strange un-genre which lies outside of neat categorisation.

Despite its curious, liminal standing, the uncanny has a wild, subterranean popularity: The Loney, The Essex Serpent, Inside No. 9...

But what exactly is The Uncanny? What can a writer do to ensure their fiction haunts the reader’s imagination? Are there approaches? Techniques? Who are the key uncanny writers and what is it about their work that... works...?

Here to answer all your questions, Writing the Uncanny sees some of the best contemporary authors explain what drew them to horror, ghost stories, folklore and beyond, and reveal how to craft unsettling fiction which resonates.

Authors include Jeremy Dyson, Alison Moore, Rowan Hisayo Buchanan, Catriona Ward, Robert Shearman and loads more (including, sadly, my arch-nemesis Jenn Ashworth) share their insights on psychogeography, fairy tales, cultural tradition and the supernatural, and offer practical, useful advice on their different approaches to this murkiest of genres.

An essential guide for both the aspiring writer of strange tales and the casual reader, I don't think it's overstating things to say Writing the Uncanny is set to become the beach-read smash of the summer.

You can order it from Dead Ink here.

I wrote about Public Image Ltd's The Flowers of Romance for The Quietus, on the occasion of the record turning 40 years old. 

I spoke to John Lydon, Martin Atkins and Nick Launay about its context, recording and  legacy.

You can read their reminiscences alongside my general wittering on the topic of its resonance in our terrible Covid-age on The Quietus here.

I have a new ghost story out. It's called 'Oblio' and will be published in Out of the Darkness, an anthology of dark fantasy and horror fiction loosely themed around mental health.

One bit of practical advice I always offer whenever I’m leading a creative writing workshop is this: if you can, set your story on a holiday. ‘Oblio’ is set on holiday. This isn’t because I’m a writer who particularly enjoys (or is skilled at) writing descriptively about a story’s settings. Rather, the appeal is an environment in which the characters are largely contained, mercifully shorn of the context of their daily lives, able only to interact with one another in any meaningful sense. As well being a handy way to bring these characters into sharper relief, a holiday setting also allows for tension to be built up with a ready plausibility, as the unfamiliar surroundings and encounters can slide smoothly into the ominous.

And, as anyone who has attended one of my workshops may well remember, I also have a habit of trying to crowbar a harmonium into pretty much everything I write, invariably for it to be removed during the edit. This story, I'm thrilled to announce, does feature a harmonium.

Briefly: ‘Oblio’ features two sisters who also happen to be a musical duo called Taurig. They are touring Europe to promote their debut album and we find them in Palermo, Italy, home of Carrie Viner, a reclusive and long-retired pop-star whose music had a great influence on Taurig. So they set out to find her. But overshadowing their jaunt are two things: the first is memories the narrator has of a traumatic trip her family took to Palermo she was a child. The second is her sister’s depression. There are also, for those who find such things interesting, connecting incidents between ‘Oblio’ and an earlier ghost story of mine called ‘Kloya and Klik’ which also concerns two people who find they are at odds with one another while holidaying in Europe.

Writing about music and musicians is something I’ve developed an interest in over the past few years, and when I was tasked with writing a story which touches on both the supernatural and depression, I was immediately put in mind of one musical artist in particular: Nico.

Nico is best remembered as a member of the Velvet Underground and for her austere performance on their 1967 debut album. After leaving the group to record the soft-rock Chelsea Girl in the same year, Nico embarked on a career that saw her create a new sound, one defined by cryptic lyrics, stark, spectral arrangements, droning harmonium and an overwhelming sense of doom. I’m not sure who described Nico’s music as ‘not so much music you get into, more a hole you fall into’ but I’ve always thought it an accurate summation, not just of her records but of also of a certain broader strata of culture of which Nico are just a small constituent part. Indeed, it also seems an apt way to describe a certain mode of depressive thinking. Nico’s music follows its own terminal logic, alive with a strange, frightening sense of mourning: it’s there in her wintry vocals and accompanying harmonium, a handheld reed organ which gives her music a pre-modern feel. It was this haunting, haunted sensation I wanted to capture as best I could in ‘Oblio’.

The aim of Out of the Darkness is to raise awareness of mental health issues and funds for Together for Mental Wellbeing, a charity that helps people affected by mental health issues work towards independent and fulfilling lives.

We all have mental health and it’s positive that the topic of mental illness is far more publicly discussed a topic than in the past, increasingly free of its taboo and stigma. However, the reality can often be far more alienating than the discourse suggests. For many, their mental wellbeing can come with a history of behaviour which is alienating and involves a loss of dignity which is hard to live with, both for them and for their loved ones. For these people medical and clinical interventions become an essential aspect of their lives. The current ‘hugs and chats’ discourse, while serving most people well, masks a mental health provision which is suffering from years of systematic underfunding. As the past year has seen widespread isolation, unemployment, record deaths and disruption to these services, the opportunity to create any kind of art which plumbs the mire of the human mind is a gift.

Out of the Darkness is published by the great Unsung Stories and also features fiction by Alison Moore, Nicholas Royle, Verity Holloway and others (and some no-mark called Jenn Ashworth). 

It's currently available to pre-order on Kickstarter with a variety of rewards including a critique service from top notch editor Dan Coxon.

Hello there. I have a new ghost story available for you to read. It's published alongside Jenn Ashworth's 'Our Mother's House' in Naming the Hour: Two Curious Tales.

You can buy it on Kindle here. 

I have a new book out.

It's called Plunge Hill: A Case Study. It was written by myself and Jenn Ashworth for the Eden Book Society project which is being run by Dead Ink.

You can buy it here.

I have a new short story available to read.

'Grasshopper' was written in response to events in real time with me finishing it only a couple of weeks ago. It takes the form of a woman in a remote village writing a journal which documents the moments when coronavirus creeps first through the country, then into her community and finally into her family.

Writing in this way - quickly, with ever-changing events informing the direction of the story - isn't usually my style but, like many other writers I know, I have found trying to think creatively with all of this swirling around me pretty much impossible. So it was cathartic to try to give voice to the anxieties I feel must have been fairly common over the past few months. Ordinarily, I would sit on a finished story like this for a while before putting it through the editorial process, trying to restructure the piece and smooth away the flaws. Clearly, in this instance the piece would lose some of its intended impact. My hope is that it feels authentic.

This piece was commissioned by Greater Manchester Combined Authority for their Covid-19 archive of works documenting and responding to the times we've all found ourselves living through.

You can read 'Grasshopper' here.